


A Rose By Any Other Name

by ImGroovyAndIKnowIt



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, BDSM, Dom Laura is the stuff of sexy dreams, F/M, Honestly What Was I Thinking, porn with little plot, they might switch later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:14:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29319969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImGroovyAndIKnowIt/pseuds/ImGroovyAndIKnowIt
Summary: Bill gets dragged to a club on his birthday, except it's not a regular one, and he meets a redhead in a leather corset who presents him with a challenge
Relationships: William Adama/Laura Roslin
Comments: 24
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *clears throat*
> 
> *taps mic*
> 
> Hello! This is being posted at the insistence of my dear friend who read it a while back and didn't want me to keep it to myself any longer, so, honestly, feel free to blame her.
> 
> So I practised writing sex scenes -'for research'- because I'm not very good at them a few weeks ago, and here's what came out... Laura being a powerful and sexy boss woman is one of my favourite things, so that helps. And I miss clubs haha (obviously I've taken artistic licence with this particular one). That is all, enjoy the weirdness of my brain and the kinkiest frakking thing I've written.
> 
> PS: Laura's identity is concealed as well as Clark Kent's with his glasses, but oh well!

He should've left right away.

If not when he saw the name of the club, then when someone walked into the building in nothing but a G-string and star-shaped nipple covers. Where the frak had he landed? His mind was still in denial. Surely, they hadn't taken him to one of _those_ clubs. Surely, Saul and Ellen hadn't wildly misjudged the situation and taken him somewhere he would've never willingly set foot in a thousand years. Birthday party, they said. Frak that.

Ellen took off her coat and gave it to the cloakroom attendant, and Bill was met with a lot more of her skin than he would've ever liked to see. “You’re such a stuck-up, Bill,” she mocked, looking at Saul for confirmation, and the man nodded.

“It’s not as bad as it seems. First time Ellen took me, I thought she’d lost her frakking mind,” Saul says as a mean of encouragement, but it didn’t help. “You need to meet new people.”

“What I need is new friends,” Bill grumbled in response. 

What those two did in their private time was none of his business, but why did they have to involve him? The striptease bar, he would've understood, but this? Why?

“I’m never trusting you again with anything,” he grunted, and Saul laughed. They both knew it wasn’t true. 

They stepped into the main room, and it didn’t get any better from there. The music so loud it resonated in his chest, the heady atmosphere, the fully-stocked bar, that he was familiar with; but the half-naked people, the stage with an X-shaped installation... he looked away, not wanting to see what the woman tied to it was about to endure. At the very least, the loud music covered the sounds he would have otherwise heard. Gods, don’t even think about that.

He instantly made for the bar - he couldn’t be sober for this. Saul and Ellen followed him and they sat on stools, facing the wall filled with bottles of probably every kind of alcohol produced in the Twelve Colonies. 

“Do you really just frak in front of everyone?” he asked, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“We don’t. We’re not exhibitionists.”

“Aren’t we?” Ellen pouted next to him, running her hand up Saul’s thigh and he winked at her.

“You’re certainly not today,” Bill declared with an air of finality. “Or after I leave. Then you can do whatever you want.”

When he received his drink, he devised a plan. He was going to sip it while making conversation for a bit, and then make a graceful exit. That was fine. He could do that.

Ellen excused herself and sauntered off to the ladies’ room. Bill talked with Saul about the latest news on the ship, which made him feel a lot less uncomfortable. He hadn’t seen his friend in a while, so it was nice to catch up, if one forgot about the environment and the people brushing past him, all collars, naked skin and nipple piercings.

Ellen came back all too soon, looking like the cat that got the cream, and he finished his drink in order to prepare for what she was about to suggest. The alcohol was definitely this place’s most attractive asset.

“They say not to have sex in the bathroom since you can do it anywhere else,” she said conspiratorially. Bill received his new drink and took another sip. “and three women are going hard at each other.”

Then Ellen sat fully into Saul’s lap, his head at the level of her barely-covered breasts, and between this and everything else, Bill made a quick decision.

Everything else.

Anything was better than this. 

He chanced a look around at the crowd. It was like they'd all got the same invitation with dress code marked as leather or nothing. No in-between, no variety. 

Ellen reached to poke Bill’s thigh with her foot and he jumped, making her laugh and almost topple over. Saul steadied her and she rewarded him with another heated kiss that lasted too long. 

The music became a fraction quieter, and a voice that Bill could barely hear, let alone listen to started speaking. That was his cue to leave and put an end to this disaster of an evening. He downed his drink, the alcohol burning its way down his throat, and stood up. 

“Well, that was-”

“Oh here she comes,” Ellen chirped, interrupting him. “You can’t leave before seeing her. Saul, tell him he can’t leave.”

“She’s not wrong,” Saul conceded. 

What was a few more minutes anyway? Closer to the stage, he could now hear the woman speaking about quick-release knots, a piece of rope in her hands. When he laid his eyes on her, he realised he’d been wrong; the quality alcohol wasn’t the most attractive feature of this place. Not by a long stretch. 

His view on the dress code immediately and radically changed, and he’d never loved it more. Black heels, bare, long legs, and some kind of black corset that seemed to double as panties - although he was no expert. What caught his attention, apart from that outfit and her hair that gleamed red in the neon light, was the mask covering the better part of her face. He was torn between _who does she think she is?_ and _smart idea_. No one else wore one, which Bill now realised was a security issue - if anyone recognised him, he was well and truly screwed. 

He probably gaped, because Ellen grinned devilishly at him. "That's Mistress Rose. She has quite the reputation."

“What kind of name is that?” he muttered, needing to find something to complain about to distract himself from staring at the woman. “And how many times have you been here exactly?” He tried to conjure images of dogs, of vipers, or anything that would replace the image of Saul and Ellen getting it on in a dark corner, or worse, in a very visible corner. It hardly worked.

Ellen shrugged carelessly, and the man in front of them replied for her. “She doesn’t give out her real name. She’s the mystery everyone wants to solve. You’ve come on the best day. Lucky you.”

Lucky him? No, he shouldn’t have been there at all, but thoughts of leaving eluded him the longer he stared at her. 

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” the woman asked, a playful edge to her voice as she looked at the crowd. “Or should I _show_ you? Any brave volunteer in the crowd want to help me?”

A flurry of hands raised and the woman hummed as she scanned the crowd. One of those hands was Ellen’s, which was- wait no, she was pointing at him. In a flash, he snatched her hand and pulled it down.

“What the frak are you doing?” he hissed.

Ellen wiggled her eyebrows at him and leaned back against Saul who cracked up. 

Bill’s heart actually skipped a beat when the eyes of the woman on stage stopped on him. He turned around, hoping she was looking at someone behind him. She laughed, a rich sound that seeped into his bones, and he turned back to the stage.

“Yes, I mean you,” she said, pointing at Bill, and then crooked her index finger to beckon him over. He shook his head.

“It’s his birthday,” Ellen shouted to be heard over the music, and Bill had never wished she didn’t exist more than he did now. Frak his friend’s taste in women.

“Hop on here then, birthday boy.”

Ha. No way.

The people around him laughed and shouted rowdy encouragements. Someone even clapped him on the back and he clenched his fist, coming this close to punching them in the face.

He couldn’t do anything else but shake his head hard, locking eyes with hers across the crowd. "I'm not going to eat you… at first." Another round of laughter. "I can be very nice, you’ll see," she paced the stage, never looking away from him. "Are you afraid of me? Is that it? A big, strong man like you?" she eventually asked, and his pride reacted at that, making his feet move before his brain could stop it. 

When he climbed up the stairs to the stage, she gave him a wolfish smile that made him wonder what he’d got himself into. "Don't take so long next time, I'm not very patient." 

Being this close to her actually took Bill's breath away. What he'd taken for a simple corset was in reality four strips of leather, two on the front barely covering her breasts and two on the back, held together by black laces criss-crossing against her pale skin, creating a tantalising view. The smell of vanilla and Caprican roses assaulted his nose. Maybe that's why she went by the name Rose. 

He crossed his arms over his chest as he studied her. Her smile was playful in all kinds of ways, but held some warmth that he wouldn't have suspected such a woman to have. Maybe that was his own bias about this damned place. And her eyes- her eyes refused to let him go. 

“What’s your name?” she asked. 

“What’s yours?”

The warmth disappeared. “I ask the questions. What’s your name?”

“Bill.”

“Mmh _Bill_. Lovely.” His name had never sounded so good coming from anyone’s mouth, her voice dripping with sex, and his pants tightened. If this was how she responded when he answered her questions, then perhaps he should continue. "Relax, I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. Not unless you want me to. Demonstrating safe knots is easier and more fun with a test subject," she explained. "It's your birthday, isn't it? Was that your wife over there?" She was obviously trying to make him more comfortable, but it wasn’t working at all.

"Gods no." That got an actual laugh out of Bill, forgetting where he was for a second. Then she touched his wrist and dragged his arm away from his chest, and it all came back, making his breath catch. 

“Don’t move,” she ordered, taking his other hand down. She turned back to the audience, and resumed her explanations, producing another piece of rope. “Like I was saying, the material is very important. Some ropes cannot be knotted, or very inefficiently. And I wouldn’t want him to get free by simply pulling on his wrists, would I?” Her thumb rubbed circles on the inside of Bill’s wrist, making his pulse quicken.

She made several knots around his hands, always untying them in less than a second, and after a while, he stopped listening. He already knew all that - not from sex, but military training - and there was something much more worthwhile to concentrate on. She was focused as she worked, her touch matter-of-fact, except for the few accidental brushes against his thigh, or his chest which made heat rise in him. He didn’t move or make a sound, grateful to be able to call upon his usual detached expression, and when she eventually looked up at him, he could see those touches were not accidental and she expected some kind of reaction. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

When she reached for the buttons of his shirt and undid the first one, he spoke, “Do you need to take my shirt off for this?” Even if she had other knots to show that required wrapping rope around his chest, she could do it over his shirt. 

“No, I don’t. I’ll stop if you want me to,” her hand grazed his stomach, a barely-there touch that almost made him growl in frustration. Almost, but he held it back. “Do you want me to?” He didn’t reply, and her fingernails dug into his hip. “I need a verbal answer.”

“No.”

She grinned. “Excellent, then....” Undoing the rest of the buttons, she slid the shirt off his shoulders. Her hand moved down his chest, almost ending at the hard bulge in his pants, and he suppressed a shudder. 

She worked on demonstrating further tying techniques, and he kept not caring, his eyes on her lush lips and the creamy expanse of her chest. That didn’t help him being any more comfortable, especially around the crotch area. At last, she was done and picked up his shirt off the floor, handing it back to him with a slow smile. 

As he started walking away, she caught his wrist again and leaned in to whisper in his ear, her breath tickling his skin. “The silent treatment may work in your life, I’m sure people are very intimidated by it, but not here. I bet I could make you beg for me.” She stepped back and folded a long piece of rope as if she hadn’t made the wildest proposition, as if she hadn’t just made him harder than he’d ever been. “You know where to find me if you want to test my theory.”

As soon as he was off stage, he was accosted by people from all sides to talk, laugh and make lewd comments and suggestions. Bill headed for the bathroom, stomach sinking as he buttoned his shirt back up. He locked himself in a stall and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to reel in the overwhelming emotions. 

It had gone too far. It was one thing to take him to this ridiculous place as a fortieth birthday prank, and a whole another to let him ridicule himself on stage, subject to the stares and whistles of the other patrons. The only upside was that woman. Mischievous green eyes, delectable ass and pale skin he was sure would bruise easily under his teeth. And those words she'd whispered burned in his mind, leaving an indelible imprint, consuming any other thought.

_I bet I could make you beg for me._

He snorted. _Like hell she could._

He had half a mind to seek her out again, rip off that ridiculous mask of hers and frak her senseless. Then they’d see how he could make _her_ beg. Or he could just leave and forget about her. Why was it so hard? 

Once his body had calmed down enough, he splashed water on his face and left the bathroom. Her eyes on him was the first thing he spotted, even before the whirlwind of Saul and Ellen approaching him again. Ellen’s wide smile, satisfied and malicious directed its full force at him, and this expression was about half of the reason why he disliked her. He meant to listen to her teasing him, to Saul laughing along and adding his own jabs, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from the intoxicating redhead leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room. 

She looked at him, but it was the time that he glanced back and found her gone that had him frowning.

He shook his head and let it go; tried to, at least. He got another drink, engaged in conversation - only listened, really - about that woman who overwhelmed him. She used to be there often, and then not for a few months until a week ago. While everyone else held very sexually explicit demos, hers focused on helping the beginners. Everyone stressed that her spine appeared to be made of steel. Rumour had it she’d made the President cry. 

She also didn’t seem to ever make offers like the one she’d murmured to him, and he didn’t know how to feel about that. He'd always liked powerful women, that wasn't the problem. But she looked like trouble. He wanted to feel her hands on him again, though, to hear her voice in his ear, to finally be able to touch her.

Saul and Ellen end up leaving after a while, but he stayed there enthralled. He was never indecisive, and the fact that he’d been sitting there for gods only knew how long thinking about a single woman annoyed him even more. Maybe she got off on psychological torture. 

Enough of this.

With a frustrated groan, he stood up and headed for the cloakroom. Before he got there, however, he was pulled to the side by the belt of his trousers.

“Remember what I said about not being patient?” The woman who would leave neither his thoughts nor his sight held him with a surprisingly strong hand to his hip and leaned in to bite his neck. Only she could be pressed against the wall and still have the upper hand. 

Bill shook his head, holding her gaze. “That’s alright, I have plenty of patience for the both of us,” he replied, and her eyes sparkled with amusement, and something else. He pushed her head to direct her lips to his, but she was having none of it. Her lips were made to be devoured, and it was a great slight not to be allowed to do just that.

She held a hand to his chest, keeping him far enough that he couldn’t reach her mouth anymore. “Mmh, one more thing I can’t wait to prove you wrong.”

He snorted quietly, but she still caught it. “You don’t believe me that I can break through your stoic mask, do you? I’m very serious. If I don’t manage, I’ll even answer your question from earlier; the one about my name.” Her serious tone made him raise an eyebrow. If he was to believe the regulars of this place, her identity was her best-kept secret, so she had to feel pretty confident to offer up the information. She squeezed his hip and slid out, walking away. “Come on.”

He never could resist a challenge, after all.

With a glance around him, he followed her.


	2. Chapter 2

They’d barely crossed the threshold that Bill had the frustrating woman pressed against the closed door, his lips coming to hers with bruising force. It was only the effect of surprise that gave him a second to appreciate the feel of her soft lips before she forced him away. 

“Don’t kiss me. That’s my rule. That, and no personal details,” she said coolly. He frowned. Why couldn’t he kiss her, slip his tongue past her lips and take her mouth like he longed to take her body? “Trust me, you need neither my lips on yours, nor my passport information to enjoy yourself,” she continued, watching his face a moment, but nothing transpired. “Bill, come here. Let’s sit down a moment.”

Now that Bill’s focus was away from her lips, he could take in the room they’d walked in. It had dark burgundy walls, soft, dim lighting, two chairs along one wall, and a four-poster bed along another, next to which was a tall wardrobe. He didn’t want to know what was inside. Come to think of it, he also didn’t want to know how many people had frakked in there. He made a face that killed all lingering arousal and she raised an eyebrow in question.

“This room is…”

She immediately picked up what he meant and the smile she gave him was understanding, warm, something he hadn’t seen much of before. “Mine. It’s mine. No one comes in here but me. And now you. You don’t have to worry.” She directed them to those two antique, comfortable-looking chairs and sat down. “You don’t seem too drunk to be making this decision. Are you?” she asked. 

“I can take much more than this. I know what I’m doing.”

“Good.”

“But it’s late. Shouldn’t we get to it before we get thrown out?”

She smiled at the barely-veiled eagerness in his voice. “Don’t worry about that. No one will disturb us. We can stay here as long as I want.”

Bill wanted to ask what that meant, how she was above closing times, how she said it was her room, but she uncrossed and recrossed her legs, and he found he didn’t care that much. 

“Let’s talk safewords. I’m used to the default yellow for pause, red for stop. Is that alright with you? We can use yours if you’d like.”

“Safewords?” he asked, slightly confused. That sounded heavy. Did he want to be a part of anything that required safewords? “Can’t either of us stop if we want to?”

“Things might get intense." He shook his head. _Someone's full of herself_. “Safewords are needed. Words that you wouldn’t normally say in the middle of action. A safety measure,” she explained further. 

“Fine.” he shrugged. He doubted he’d have any use for them. “Yours then.”

She regarded him for a moment longer, her expression undecipherable, then nodded. “Anything you don’t want us to do?” she asked next in a detached, business-like fashion that intrigued him. She was talking about them having sex in one of _those_ clubs, not about tomorrow’s rain showers over Caprica City. When he didn’t reply, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her thighs, giving him a much better view of her breasts. He looked forward to taking them into his mouth. “This is important. Please, humour me.”

“I don’t know. I’ll use your safewords. Speaking of rules, our bet needs a time limit. Otherwise, you’re guaranteed a win,” he suggested and she nodded, gesturing for him to go ahead with a proposition. “Say an hour.”

To Bill’s utter surprise, she laughed, clear and loud. He’d heard her laugh before, but a lot of it had been lost in the music. Now he got to enjoy it, even though she was laughing _at_ him. “An hour. I don’t know whether to be insulted that you think I need that much time to bring you to your knees, or impressed at your self-confidence.” Amusement was clear in her voice, wrapping around every word, and it was so riveting he didn’t mind that much that she’d laughed at him. “Bill, you’re exquisite. I look forward to this so much.”

“Look forward to me calling you by your name in an hour,” he answered, his mouth twisting into a lopsided smile.

“So, first time here, huh?” she asked instead of replying to his provocation.

“Maybe not. Maybe I’m a regular,” he challenged.

“Maybe you are,” she conceded with a hum. “Maybe you’re full of it.”

“You don’t know every return visitor, do you? Have you frakked them all?” He wasn’t sure why he’d said that, perhaps to get a rise out of her. It worked, her gaze turning to ice. Under such a stare, he found himself unable to move.

“This is none of your concerns.”

“You’ve made the President cry. Tough guy, but a moron. Well done.”

Her face was still a displeased mask, but a light smirk was breaking through. “How do you know that?”

“So I do know something about you, after all.”

“Oh, you’ll know plenty about what I’m capable of,” she moved to sit on his lap and nipped at his jaw. He took advantage of the proximity to slide his hands along her body, one in the mass of her hair, and one to her side, tracing the naked skin between the laces. 

“You do have wandering hands. Lucky I kept some of the rope,” she commented as she stood back up and pushed his hands away.

Frustration built in Bill’s chest, threatening to spill over. He couldn’t kiss her, he couldn’t touch her - if there wasn’t anything he _could_ do, then what was the frakking point?

“You’re annoyed, aren’t you?” she nudged, picking up on his change of mood. “Not accustomed to being told no? You look like someone who’s used to giving orders. I get that.” 

He didn’t reply. It wasn’t that at all - was it? She took his hand, her fingers stroking his arm up and down before settling on his wrist, rubbing slow circles there; that same gesture from earlier that was both soothing and arousing at the same time. She pulled him up and started undressing him. This time, he didn’t move, and she smiled at him in response, showing that she appreciated the effort.

Frustration had tampered his growing erection once again, which now came back full force as her fingers repeatedly came in contact with his skin when she unbuttoned his shirt. All of his clothes received the same treatment, piled on the chair. 

His underwear was last, and as she slid it down, his cock sprang to attention. She hummed, running light fingers along the side of it. He almost forgot the game they were playing, but held back his groan at the last second. 

“Are you-”

“Ssh.” She put a finger to his lips, and his tongue darted out to suck it into his mouth. Her eyes snapped up to his, gaining both a little warmth, and a little darkness. There was no doubt she was enjoying this, too. “Is that you telling me what you want me to do?” she asked teasingly. In a blur of movement, she was on her knees and had taken all of him into her mouth.

The suddenness of it had Bill bite hard on his lip, a gasp catching in his throat. After her light, kittenish touches, being engulfed whole in the wet heat of her mouth was almost too much. He scrambled for purchase, grabbed the side of the chair as she sucked expertly, making him impossibly harder. She pulled out again, and the cold glare he gave her at the interruption made her laugh- no, not laugh. Giggle. She frakking giggled while on her knees in front of him, and he couldn’t look away.

“We’re only getting started. I’m going to take my time,” she smirked at him, slowly fondling his balls for emphasis and his hips jerked involuntarily. “You gave me an hour, remember?” Yes, he’d definitely been stupid on that one. The way she squeezed him made his knees weak, and she released him, climbing back to her feet. “Go lie on your back.” 

There was this quiet authority about her that was akin to those of the greatest leaders, and Bill found himself complying, walking to the bed and lying down. She came back with the same kind of rope she’d used during the demonstration, and took one of his arms, then the other, tying both to the headboard.

“Did you pay attention to the class on knots, Bill?” she asked casually, her breasts so close to his face as she worked that he felt the heat radiating from her skin. He hesitated telling her he probably knew more about knots than she did, but decided against it. The knowledge could come in handy later; better to be one step ahead of one’s opponent. 

Opponent? Since when was she an opponent? Since he had no idea what she was planning to do, that was when.

Bill pulled experimentally on his arms, and the knots held on. It wasn’t so taut that it was uncomfortable, just so much that he couldn’t reach for her or himself. She was a smart woman - he’d have for sure finished himself off rather than beg for her like she’d promised he would. Now that choice had been taken away from him and it was all the more arousing, not knowing what she was going to do, having to defer to someone else. He’d never given anyone this much power over him, but there was something about her… something that inspired trust, a sense that yes, they might play, but she’d let him go if he asked, wouldn’t be cruel, taunting or unfair. 

“You’re so gorgeous like this.” She saw the disbelief in his eyes, and added firmly, “You are.”

She ran a hand from his bound wrist to his shoulder, squeezing a bulging bicep appreciatively on the way. Then she let both of her hands explore his chest, nails scraping along his ribs and making him shiver. She kept her touches soft and light for the most part, paying attention to every part of him that was on display. 

The more time passed, the more baffled he became. 

He'd expected her to use him for her pleasure, and then maybe, just maybe, let him come. Wasn’t that how people like her worked? He’d thought so, anyway. She'd straddle his hips, take control of the pace, slow and torturous until he almost sobbed with need for more. But this was different, and it threw him off balance. She didn't make him do anything. She didn't even _let him_ do anything. Her hands simply hovered over his body, caressing, teasing, scratching. That wasn't to say what she did wasn't stimulating. It was erotic as frak, watching this beautiful woman deal with his body the way she wanted to. 

When she looked back at his face, what she’d been doing struck him: making him relax, letting tension gently out of his body. He found a strange sense of endearment for her at that - at that caring side of her. Those two sides of the redheaded temptress made his head spin: the one who’d promised to make him beg, her voice low, sultry and beaming with power, and the one now who kept wordlessly checking on him, making sure he was at ease - but not too much so; whenever she felt he was relaxing a little too much, she’d graze his groin, bite a nipple, or murmur more of those hot promises in his ear, and he’d rapidly be back to wanting more. 

When she eventually nudged his knees apart to settle between them, he very nearly groaned with relief. She sent him a knowing grin, and took his straining erection into her hand, squeezing it firmly. His toes curled and he shut his eyes for just a second, taking in a sharp breath. Finally. She stroked slowly, at first, then faster and faster until he felt heat pooling in his crotch, a sign that he was close. She watched him closely, and when his legs tensed, preparing for the sweet release that would soon overtake him, she let go.

Bill audibly growled at being denied in such a way, and his eyes shot up to see the smug look on her face.

“There you go,” she teased, stroking his thigh and fueling his frustration. “I knew you wouldn’t be quiet all night.”

She resumed her caresses of his body, none of them soothing any longer, all of them inflaming his nerves. Eventually, his breathing went back from short puffs to full inhales and exhales, no longer close to the edge.

That’s when she started again.

The intentionally rough grab of his balls made his fists clench, kicking out all the air from his lungs. She fondled, pulled lightly and massaged for a while before her lips found the oozing head of his throbbing erection again. He needed more, but when he thrust up into her mouth, she held his hips down with her free hand and sent him a warning look. Still worked up from the first time, and feeling her tongue work his sensitive flesh in a way that made him grab the headboard and squeeze hard, it wasn’t long before he felt heat rise up again. She sank all the way down on him and stopped moving. Frak. One hard suck, one more flick of the tongue on that spot she’d just scraped and he’d come undone. She stayed that way, though, her breath making the skin of his stomach tingle, and he remained on the brink, wanting so badly to fall to the other side, but not quite managing.

His thighs were shaking, his heart bearing wildly… and she straightened up, letting him fall out of her mouth. He pulled on his restraints, but they refused to give, and she clicked her tongue disapprovingly. For a moment, he couldn’t see clearly anymore, nothing else mattered than surrendering to the wave that threatened to pour over him.

“Frak, just…” he took in a shaky breath, slammed his mouth shut again. 

"See why I tied you up?" She hummed, clearly loving it, and he was torn between being angry at her, and marvelling at her ability to drive him crazy, to take him just a breath away from release and bring him back down again. Perhaps later he’d marvel, but not right now. He couldn’t do anything but feel - feel the cold air on his wet cock, her soft fingers over his stomach, the almost unbearable fever coursing through him, demanding to be given an out. 

This time, she didn’t wait until he had come back all the way down, pressing her lips where her fingers had previously been, on his thighs, sucking, biting almost to the point of pain, to his stomach, dipping into his navel and making him want to squirm, to the pulse point at his neck, nibbling more or less gently and feeling it quicken. She glided her body over his, the laces of her outfit dragging over his painful erection every time she moved. This was torture, and not the kind he’d been trained to resist. 

Her attention shifted back to where he wanted her the most, but quickly, too quickly. she sat back on her heels. When she stopped, he pulled on his wrists so hard the headboard rattled. She cocked an eyebrow in fond amusement.

He couldn't stand that any longer. Not another second. 

He glanced up at his arms, and while he couldn't see the knot tying his wrists together, he remembered her movements. So he tried to take his focus out of the delicious movements of her hands and lips that she’d already resumed and to his own hands, twisting and turning the rope to untie the knot. Then he pulled on his wrists, and his breath caught. 

It didn't work. 

She looked up, smirked widely at him. "Something wrong, Bill?" she asked sweetly, the pretend-innocent tone making him want to groan. "You didn't think I'd make it that easy for you, did you?" 

He exhaled, swallowed, and cursed with every last bit of foul language he had in his vocabulary. 

She’d stop if he asked her to. He could say _Red_ , that word she'd told him would stop everything and release him. But frak, he didn't want to stop. Not like that. He wanted her to give him what he needed, what she kept promising and taking away as soon as he caught on. 

"What would you do if I released you?" She asked, and images of grabbing her hips, flipping her over and driving himself straight into her filled his mind. Just imagining it, how it'd feel, how she'd gasp, how he'd thrust with abandon into her heat, made him moan out loud. "Tell me." Her order cracked like a whip, fingers pinching a hard nipple. 

"I'd grab you and -ah frak- make you regret torturing me." His voice sounded foreign to his own ears. 

"Am I torturing you, Bill?" Her wide eyes met his again, the heat in them unmistakable. She suckled lazily on the head of his cock and his hips bucked up, but she held them down again. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"You frakking... know it," he actually whimpered as her tongue traced the most sensitive spot, right at the base of the head. How did she already know that about him?

"Good thing I have no intention of letting you go." 

At the hands of the skilled woman he’d so clearly underestimated, Bill lost all sense of time. Nothing that wasn’t her existed. They could have been there fifteen minutes or three hours and he wouldn’t be able to tell.

“Please,” the word tumbled from his lips as she sucked one of his balls into her mouth and let one of her nails catch his skin as she stroked him lazily. “I get it, you win, just...”

She lifted her head to properly look at his face, the crease of his brow, sweat beading on his forehead, the hard press of his lips, and a smile pulled at hers. “You can do better than that. I know you can,” she said, surprisingly softly. “What do you want?”

“Let me come, Gods I- frak _please._ Enough. I can’t- don’t stop.” He was delirious with lust and need, his lips forming words without his brain’s approval. 

“Ssh, it’s okay,” she gently stroked his side in what she probably meant to be a calming gesture, but that reminded him exactly of what she wasn’t doing. “I’m not quite done with you yet. I have to enjoy you. You’re so…” she shook her head, and if he’d been observing her, he’d have seen the flicker of something genuine, something real flash through her eyes. But he was beyond that, had been for a while. 

She enthusiastically got back to work, bringing his incoherent, trembling, overworked body to the edge one last time. His hips arched off the bed, and this time, she let them. He was so close. So close, if she’d just...

"That's it, yes. Come for me, Bill. I want to see you." Her voice was so much rougher now, like this had aroused her as much as it had him. Impossible.

The world shattered into a million pieces before his eyes, and, with a cry, he exploded all over his chest, his entire body spasming with the stunning, pent-up force of his release. He panted, and all but whimpered when she kept touching him in lazy strokes. "You said you didn't want me to stop," she teased as he gritted his teeth. She eventually let go of his cock and climbed back up his body, making quick work of untying his wrists and bringing his arms down. 

Then she lay next to him, gently stroking his hair and coaxing him back to a world of coherent thought. "You've been so good," she whispered, with a kiss to his temple. He hardly noticed anything but the thumping of his heart and the sweet rush in his veins. He'd never come so hard in his life, and found that he couldn't speak. She didn't seem to mind, all sweet words and gentle caresses. 

It took many, many minutes for the world to come back into focus, and when it finally did, Bill opened his eyes to find her smiling kindly at him. "Thank you for allowing me to do that." _She_ was thanking _him_? "I was right, you do beg so beautifully."

He found the energy to snort, but nothing else.

Another moment passed before words found their way past his lips again. “How long has it been? I feel like we’ve been here all night.”

“We haven’t. It was less than the time you allocated, but not by much. You looked in pain, slightly. I was about to stop teasing you and let you have it anyway.”

“Will you tell me your name then?” he asked. He had nothing to lose by asking, after all. 

“No, I don’t think so.” She shook her head, running a single finger down his chest in the way she’d done many times right before she’d take him in hand. His brain remembered the pattern and his eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t finish the movement. He didn’t think he’d have been able to stand it.

But there was something _he_ could do. 

He’d always thought that pleasure was best when it was shared, and he fully intended for her to share his. He’d barely moved enough to apply his mouth to the top of her breast when her voice rang in his ear, soft, but steely. "We're not doing that."

"Why not?” he asked. “You really expect me to walk away and leave you like that?"

"Like what?"

"Wet and wanting."

She rolled her eyes, but licked her lips. "You don’t know that I am." 

He chanced a hand down her body, slipping it under her panties when she didn’t stop him. She was indeed so wet he didn’t even have to go looking. He started rubbing her in slow circles, watching the flutter of her eyelids, noticing the catch of her breath as he did so. 

"You can't tell me that returning the favour counts as learning personal details about you. Unless you start reciting your birthdate and the name of your first dog. Then it's not my fault."

That quip earned him a chuckle, but she stilled his hand anyway, pulling it off her.

An idea suddenly hit him over the head, and he smirked as he held himself up above her and leaned down until his lips grazed her earlobe.

If him begging did it for her, he wasn't above playing dirty to get what he wanted. " _Please_. Please let me make you come." Bill whispered, his voice raspy, and she let out a low moan. Now, that was better.

It took her a second, but she wordlessly put his hand back where it had been. He grinned and took off her panties - thank the gods her outfit wasn't all-in-one, or he'd have spent hours undoing laces, and his usual patience had long since deserted him. 

Finally, he tapped her thigh so she’d spread her legs and settled in there. Parting her folds with his tongue, he lapped at her wetness, the very physical evidence of her arousal. He let the tip of his tongue circle her clit once, and her hips twitched hard in response; he held them down with one hand just like she'd done to him. The look she gave him was full of a blinding fire, and her hand reached for his head to push it down more, make him give her the resolution they both needed. 

But he left that spot, licking down until he reached her entrance, which he circled several times, her taste even more intense there. With every movement, he felt tremors in her thigh and a clenching in her muscles. 

She'd said she wanted neither his cock nor his fingers inside her, so he frakked her with his tongue. She hadn't mentioned anything about that, so he would take advantage of that loophole to the fullest. She whimpered at the sensation, which made his spent cock stir. She was so hot like this, flushed and wanting.

"More. Don't stop," she moaned out. He had no intention of stopping. Maybe he should have; maybe he should've wanted to give her a taste of her own medicine, torture her like she'd tortured him, but the only thing he wanted at the moment was to see her climax, and perhaps take a little detour to make her writhe and arch into his mouth before that.

She didn't want the detour. She threatened to throw him the frak out if he didn't make her come _right now_ , so his tongue traveled back up to her swollen nub, rubbing it in firm strokes and sucking gently. Her moans grew in intensity and volume as the motions of his tongue drove her wild, pushing her closer to the edge. 

"Gods yes," she cried out, the hand in his hair tightening just on the side of painful as her orgasm ripped through her body. 

The movements of his mouth became slower, more delicate as she panted under him, until she pushed him away from her oversensitive sex. He pressed a quick kiss to her hipbone and let himself be pushed back to her side. 

"You taste so good," he said, licking his lips as he looked at her. Her eyes were half-closed, but she opened them to watch him do that.

He was surprised by how little work it took to get her off. He'd thought she was aroused before, and now having real proof that what they'd done had inflamed her made him feel warm and light.

She didn’t stay long in bed after that, and he begrudgingly followed her lead.

By the time he left their room, it was 4 a.m., and she insisted she'd clean up after them, so he walked out, mourning the fact that he had to go at all. The club was empty having long closed now. True to what she'd said, no one had bothered them at closing time, and as he walked through the empty club rooms that he'd last seen full of people and alive with music, he wondered who she really was. 


End file.
